Home is Where Our Heart is
by NerveuxNerveux
Summary: After everything she's been through, the Lone Wanderer has a Megaton home and a certain Tunnel Snake for company. After a rough break-up, she thinks back on their life together at home. Rated T for alcohol abuse as well as hints at drugs and sex.


"Gooob!" She cried out again, slouching over the bar, barely keeping her balance on the stool it was rickety enough in the first place, and it wouldn't take much movement to tip it over. It appeared to be another night for her in Megaton's only bar, Gob's Saloon, previously owned by Moriarty, and once again, Gob was running low on alcohol for his best customer. He'd been trying his best to keep himself well stocked lately, between his regular customers, her and her boyfriend, that was living with her now that the whole Brotherhood Enclave thing was sorted out, he had so many thirsts to quench and only so many bottles.

"Ya know, downing two bottles of Scotch in an hour probably isn't good for you." Even as he was saying this, he passed her another bottle. One of the first things he learned as a a bartender was to not say no to someone who was more attracted to liquid than a Myer lurk. She immediately opened it, tossing the cork aside and downing about a quarter of it.

"Gob, I save the entire DC area and all I get out of it is a shack and a robot servant. No glory, no fame, no money, no real praise even. Everyone who could've praised me is dead." She sighed. "And now that Moriarty's gone, Nova's gone clean, I can't even get her to ease all my troubles away." Another forth of the bottle was gone before Gob could even respond.

"What about that guy you were hanging around with, the one with the little swirl thing in his hair?" Gob asked, using his hand to make a swirl in front of his forehead, trying to get his point across. He could never remember the man's name. She scoffed in response folding her arms on the bar and resting her head on top of them.

"We got in a shouting match a few days ago and the jackass took off. Haven't seen 'im since. He probably got ripped in half by a Deathclaw, a blind Deathclaw at that. A blind baby Deathclaw, with 2 broken legs."

"What were you even fighting about?"

"Something stupid." She responded, to her it really wasn't stupid. Butch had always thought he could be a player if he wanted to and he never had any second thoughts about sharing this. That always pissed her off to know end and she gave short sarcastic answers in an attempt to get him to shut up. He never seemed to get the hint. This time he suggested that they have an "open" relationship. That set her off and sent the two of them into a shouting match that ended up with him leaving and slamming the door behind him

"If you say so." Gob agreed with her, normally he was very fond of her company, but it was past closing time, normally he didn't care, she was one of the few people who enjoyed his company, but she'd been staying after like this for the past couple of days and it was beginning to wear him out. "You seem tired, maybe you should go home and try to sleep it off?"

"Maybe," she muttered, swirling the bottle and what was left of the liquid around. She didn't really want to leave but she got up anyway and sulked back to her house. She was glad that the Love Machine theme came complete with a bed in the middle of her living room because she plopped down on it without a second thought, it was cushy and she was able to relax when she wrapped the silk sheets around her. The room itself smelled like a mix of alcohol, Med-X, and oil, it's actually what she smelled like half the time, but the bed had a completely different scent to it. It smelled like alcohol, hair, gel, leather, cigarettes, musk, hair spray, and grease. To anyone else it would have been an unattractive smell, actually, it was to her as well, but knowing who that smell belonged to, made it a little piece of heaven. She closed her eyes and smiled, immersing herself in the scent and the memories that went along with it.

She recalled the mornings sitting down and eating Sugar Bombs together. The mornings were always silent as they sat cross-legged on that heart shaped bed, trying to find the will to spoon the cereal into their mouths. Neither of them were morning people, and always had problems finding motivation to do anything, even eating. Brahmin milk dripped down their chins and they each tried to put a kick in their cereal by adding a couple of shots of vodka, each had a certain fondness for liquor. There never seemed to be more than one cigarette left and they'd share it, taking turns taking drags and playfully blowing smoke in each others faces, just to piss the other off. The morning would finish with the couple arguing about whose turns it was to do the dishes. Whose turn did it always end up being? Wadsworth's.

She remembered all the afternoons where she'd lounge on that heart shaped bed, flipping through a D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine, or a copy of The Big Book of Science, occasionally even reading an old world fairy tale and smiling at the ending where the Princess got her Prince and they lived happily ever after. That was her favorite kind of ending, she hoped it would happen in real life just as it had happened in the book. He always seemed to end up lounging next to her asking her what she was reading. He never actually gave her time to respond, and just snatched the book out of her hands. If it was one of her educational readings he'd just throw it back, get up, and leave her to her reading but when it was one of those fairytales he'd laugh and start reading it out loud trying to tease her. She'd blush a bright red and try to wrestle the book away from him, all the while whining and shouting while he laughed. The situation usually ended up with the book on the floor, while he ended up on top of her reminding her that if she ever needed a Prince, he had no place better to be and she knew where to find him. When he talked like that, it sent her heart racing. After a couple of playful kisses that book lying on the floor would be covered in a pile of clothes.

The last thing that flooded to her memory was the nights she spent curled up in that heart shaped bed. The nights were she couldn't think of anything except the faces of all the people that she'd sent to an early death along her way to saving the Wasteland. She remembered the flash of horror in their faces before the life drained from their eyes. The haunting way their pupils dilated and the daunting sound of a nearly silent gasp plagued her mind. She could never forget seeing her father die trying to save her, when at his very last moment, she ran without even thinking of trying to save him. She'd drink two shots at a time, one for herself and one for her father, she knew he drank and figured it was the best way to honor him. A couple of empty Jet inhalers would sit floor next to a few Med-X syringes, also empty. She'd regret every single choice she had ever made starting from not letting one of the Vault 101 officers kill her before this whole journey even began. It would've made things a lot simpler. She'd close her eyes and try not to cry, but she'd be brought back into reality when she heard the sound of a full bottle of liquor being shook in front of her. She'd open her eyes and see the unopened bottle of Scotch and reach out to grab it with a trembling hand. Once it was firmly in her grasp she would sit up and stare at the bottle for a few seconds, examining her flushed face and red eyes of her reflection in the glass. A tear would cascade down her cheek as a jacket was wrapped tightly and firmly around her shoulders, followed by arms wrapping around her stomach from behind her, pulling her back down onto the bed and up against a warm body. She'd turn around and they'd look into each other's eyes for a minute before taking the cork off the bottle. They'd spend the whole night taking turns taking shots and whispering sweet things to each other, never more than a foot in distance between them. As the night worn and the alcohol began kicking, on giggling and laughing under the lights hanging from the banister with smiles on their faces. If there was one thing they'd both learned from life, it was that alcohol was the best short term solution, and if you never stopped drinking, alcohol was a long term solution. Even though deep down both of them knew it wasn't true, for now it made them forget all the things in their past they didn't want to remember. It allowed them to make new memories with each other.

Alcohol seemed to be the best remedy to any situation. That's the idea she was trying to convince herself of as she raised the bottle to her lips. Just as she was about to take another long drink off of it she stopped. The alcohol wasn't going to work. It wouldn't make her forget. This time there was only one thing that could make her happy and it was probably wandering around the Wasteland getting ripped apart by wild dogs, and if he had managed to survive, he was probably off having the time of his life with some cheap whore. She whipped the bottle across the room. It loudly shattered and Wadsworth hovered across the room and began cleaning it up. After the robot finished, it hovered past her again, and the room was silent. She couldn't take the loneliness and the silence that filled the room. It was giving her a pounding headache. She decided to go upstairs and retire to her own little twin bed, crying herself to sleep.

She was always a light sleeper, she often woke-up several times during the night, and tonight was no exception. She didn't know what time it was when she woke-up but the only thing she could think to do was walk, and that's what she did. In a hypnotic pattern of one room to the next she walked, thoughtless and exhausted. Finally, she settled down in the living room. She sat down on the heart shaped bed and let out a sigh. She started thinking about what she would do next in life, "Stay here in Megaton? No, too many memories and not enough available men. Maybe Rivet City? Tenpenny Tower?" These No, too many memories and not enough available men. Maybe Rivet City? Tenpenny Tower?" These were the thoughts that came to mind. At that moment the door rattled which brought her from her thoughts. After a moment of restless fidgeting the door swung open.

In walked Butch, he was covered in grime, dirt, and even a bit of blood, only some of it his own. He slouched when he walked and had a bit of a limp. His Vault-suit had faded and was torn in several places, tears from bullets, teeth, and knives. Judging from the sunburn and his facial expression he felt worse than he looked. He stepped into the room and the door slammed shut. The both just stared wordlessly at each other for a moment. He finally sat down next to her and pulled out what appeared to be a bundle of sticks. She took them and examined them confusion growing on her face as each second passed.

"They were flowers." He explained. "Remember that place with all the crazy tree people? That place way up North?"

"The Oasis?"

"Yeah, I sorta went up there to get ya some flowers. But they died on the way back here." He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. "I know girls like flowers so I figured you'd like them." Another long silence between them. "…Look, I'm sorry for everything that happened. I just want everything to be back to the way it was okay?" There was another long silence. She stared down at the pile of what used to be flowers. Suddenly she smiled tossing the bundle aside and tackling him down onto the bed giving him a long passionate kiss.

"Of course, you dumb fuck." She whispered and he smiled. She rested her head on his chest and Wadsworth clicked off the lights. For a while they both laid there in the dark, silently enjoy the warmth and presence of one another. He fell asleep long before she did. And in those fleeting moments before she fell asleep she thought of what would happen in the morning. She'd pour him a bowl of Sugar Bombs and treat his cuts while Wadsworth sewed the Vault-suit back together and restored it to a wearable condition. Butch would complain that she needed to be gentler, she'd threaten to rub salt in the wounds if he didn't man up. He'd grumble that she'd never do that. They'd bicker back and forth until breakfast was over. Then, they'd argue about whose turn it was to do the dishes, and she wouldn't want it any other way. She decided that she'd let him have the last cigarette in her pack tomorrow, and then she drifted off into a sweet, restful slumber.


End file.
